onsdag 31 mars 2010

I figure this is a good day to say thank you. Family first. I am so very thankful that I have my two beautiful children, E and L. I consider myself privileged because I get to see you both every day. I can hug you whenever I want to. I love you two so much. You mean more to me than anything in this world. I am also very thankful that I have M in my life. It has been you and I for 15 years, and even though we have had a couple of rollercoaster rides, we have managed to keep the love through it all. I am still here. I'll stand by you. And I know you will be there, seeing me through the good times and the bad times. Even though you still haven't proposed to me, and I have expressed frustrations about this fact in the past, I know you love me with all of your body and soul, and I am so thankful for that. Thank you for letting me love you back. Thank you for letting me grow as a person every day.

I am thankful I know how to fill my days. I am thankful my days are full. I am thankful I know what I want to do when I grow up. I want to be a teacher. I am thankful being a teacher's student studying hard, and in a couple of years I will have my teacher's diploma. I am thankful for all the long sleepless nights with my laptop, my books and my cold coffee as my only companions. Thank you for showing me this path. I will follow.

Thank you for allowing me to express myself through music. Thank you for allowing me to feel creative as I take photographs, paint, draw, sculpt and arrange flowers. Thank you for all the beauty that surrounds me constantly.

Thank you for putting me through the difficult times, and for testing my strength. Thank you for putting obstacles in my way that force me to climb them and allow me to see things from a different perspective. Thank you for all the times my eyes open and I see. Thank you for showing me there are many sides to each melody. Thank you for teaching me to appreciate the darkness, as fuel to my inner light. Thank you for the poetry. Thank you for the heroes. Thank you for the music. Thank you for the inspiration.

onsdag 24 mars 2010

Let me tell you about a woman I do not like. This person is extremely nosy (is that a word?). She spends so much time digging her nose into other peoples business, so she hardly has any time left to mind her own. I started this post by telling you I don’t like her, and that’s true, I really don’t. Now, I like most people. I am not crazy about everyone, but for the most part I have found something to like in most people I have met to this day. But this woman… she is scary. I can hardly find the words to describe her. She is stupid beyond belief. She makes me feel all cold inside. What did this poor woman ever do to you, you might be asking... Well, I will tell you in a little while. And it’s not what she did to me once that upset me really, almost not what she did to me twice, either. It’s what she did to me three times that got to me.

A couple of years ago I worked at a gym. I was the cute and cheerful receptionist greeting people behind the fancy desk. After we had closed, at night, I would clean the whole place and wipe peoples body fluids (sweat mostly, I am guessing…) from the gym equipment, as well as cleaning bathrooms, showers, you know, the lot. Anyway. Sorry, I got lost there for a while. One day as I stand there behind my desk smiling and chatting with club members she suddenly approaches me. “Ah, I see it’s about time I told you congratulations, I can see a little baby bulking in there”, she says, grinning, pointing at my stomach. She thought I was pregnant. Oh no. When I smilingly told her “No, ma’am, that is just me having a bad posture, or maybe I should work out more, ha ha…” she smiled back at me and left. She didn’t even tell me she was sorry. I felt a little troubled and hurt. Did I look pregnant? Was I fat? Should I start a diet? (Again...).Should I buy a new pair of running shoes? Pilates, maybe that would work? Should I get some ice-cream on my way home from work and eat it all watching old Friends-episodes?

A year or two later I still worked at the gym, now as a health consultant, a sales person and a Pilates instructor. She approaches me as I stand showing the new spring collection of Casall tank tops. She smiles, all friendly looking. Then she pokes me in my stomach and asks when the baby is coming. I don’t smile back at her. I just tell her I am not, in fact, pregnant. That night I go home with my tears falling. I remain somewhat depressed for two weeks. Did I mention she didn’t say she was sorry?

A couple of years later I find myself working at a school. She works there too. One day as I pour a cup of coffee from the coffee machine in the staff room she approaches me. She smiles. “When you are wearing that dress you are not able to hide it anymore. Come here, let me give you a hug!”. Can you believe it? I wasn’t pregnant this time either. But this time something snapped inside of me. I had never reacted that way before, and I never have since either, but I yelled at her (and I hardly ever raise my voice), I told her exactly how I felt, I reminded her of the fact that it was the third time she did this, and I asked her how stupid it is humanly possible to actually be. I used a lot of bad language too, but it was all in Swedish and wouldn’t mean a lot to you. I think you get the picture, though. Guess what happens next? An apology? No. Instead she gets extremely upset that I cause such a huge scene in the staff room (Well, my yelling did attract quite a few spectators), and she therefore demands that I apologize to her on the spot for making her feel so embarrassed and uncomfortable… Now, I am proud I didn’t punch her. She should be thankful I didn’t punch her. I am a pacifist, after all.

She never got that apology, though. And she never will. I do not like that woman.

A good rule to live by: Do not ever ask a woman if she is pregnant. Just don’t. Not even if she is on the floor, naked in front of you, giving birth. That might be a good time to call 911, though. :)

måndag 22 mars 2010

When I woke up this morning I felt a sudden craving for lasagna. I smiled to myself, knowing exactly what to cook tonight for supper, for once. I could almost taste it already, the meat sauce, the basil, the mozzarella… I love the feeling when you just prepared something really delicious and only have to wait for it to get ready in the oven, the wonderful smells that start to spread through the apartment, setting the table, maybe lighting a few candles… Sigh… My head full of vivid images and my senses running wild over the upcoming fun time in my kitchen I went to tell my significant other, who was currently in the bathroom brushing his teeth, of my supper plans. He gave me a nasty look, tooth paste all over his face. He didn’t exactly jump with joy hearing about my lasagna plans. Actually he looked at me as if I was some kind of a bug, an intruder taking up space in his bathroom. I mean, please, he was only brushing his teeth, for heavens sake… He then told me I should go ask the kids, and see how they liked my plans. M is not a big fan of my cooking. Obviously, huh? I have never understood why, though. I put a lot of passion into my cooking. Spices, herbs, my passion, my soul … I am really creative too, let me tell you. Sure, I’ve messed up a couple of times, but who hasn’t, on the other hand? I’d like to think I at least learn from my mistakes.

Anyway, feeling a little bit discouraged I went into L’s room. He was sitting on the floor playing with his Lego. “L”, I said, “you know that lasagna I made for us the other week, did you like that at all? Was that any good? Would you like me to cook that tonight?”. And L, my darling child, my beautiful, brilliant boy, looked at me in a funny way and said: “Mom, you know how you tell us we are only supposed to say nice things to people…?” Me: “Yes…?”. L: “Well, I can say I didn’t enjoy it a lot…, but I still love you…” I asked him what was wrong with it, and then he told me, flat out. He now admitted to having found chunks of actual tomato in the tomato sauce…! He also thought he remembered having spotted a piece of onion or two in between the lasagna layers. And heaven forbid be there any pieces of onion in the food…! I smiled at him, ( the “I love you”-part always gets me…) sighed, kissed him on his hair, and left his room to go ask E instead. She’d stand up for me, at least. I was hoping. I entered her room. She was still asleep. I didn’t care. I had to know. I walked up to her bed and asked her how she felt about the lasagna I made the other week. Did I sound like a psycho doing this? I hope not. Almost still asleep E gave me her answer: “Mom, I didn’t like your lasagna at all”. Just like that. No mercy.

Now, I refuse to make lasagna with no onions and no tomato in it. I mean, what will they complain about next? No cheese? No pasta? Please. I still haven’t decided what to do tonight. I might make lasagna anyway, in fact, I think I should. And they can eat it if they want to, or have their father prepare something else if they don’t. That’s what I should do. That’s how I should react. I hope, tonight, I will find the strength to go through with it.

fredag 19 mars 2010

This post is me attempting closing in on fiction. My 55 poem this week is about the things you say, and the things you do, and the reasons why. It could be me talking, but then again it could not. I would never drive my kid to school since we live next door to his school... I don't think I'd drive him if we lived far from school either, to tell you all the truth. In that case we would probably just take our bikes. Save the environment and all that, you know. Anyway. Recently I have noticed that I tend to say things like "come on" more often than I say things like "I love you" and "Come here give me a hug" and I don't think that is a good thing. I mean, look at my baby. He is so wonderful. So perfect. He deserves all the best. I love him so much. I need for him to know that. Does he know that? Oh, I hope he does.

torsdag 18 mars 2010

Eh…
Let me try this again…
She had big blue eyes…
And her hair used to be blond.

By the way… Do you know that Evian spells naïve backwards?
It does.

But that has nothing at all to do with this story. I’m just not sure how to start…

The girl I am going to tell you about was kind of a wreck. Faking sanity she was constantly struggling to make ends meet. She noticed in the mirror that she had started to look old. She used to look…, well, …younger… She was self-centered and completely lost. Lost in translation. Lost in time. Lost in space. You name it. Apart from being completely lost she always kept extremely busy. She was always trying harder, aiming higher, running faster, pushing further. Something was bound to happen. And eventually, it did.

One time due to a lot of stress this girl suddenly started to lose all her hair. Just on a few little spots, at first. Not a big deal. Yeah, right. Later, there were more spots than actual…hair. She looked a lot like an old man. Now I’m talking really old here, people. So she decided to shave her hair off. All of it. For a couple of minutes she felt really brave and cool. But then she started to cry. She didn’t look at all like Sinéad O’Connor. Not at all. She looked like E.T. Or Gollum. Or a mix of E.T and Gollum. Pale, dry-skinned and hairless. Then she lost her eyebrows, to make matters worse. Later she lost her eyelashes. Eventually her legs were perfectly smooth. Not that she cared about that. She was too busy missing her eyelashes. She wore shades. She wore scarfs. She wore baseball caps. She wore hats. She finally swallowed her pride and got a couple of wigs. The girl was not happy whatsoever. She felt more lost than ever.

What was she supposed to do? She decided to make some changes. Things got better. She decided to change jobs. Things got even better. She decided to try to relax more. Her hair started growing back. On certain spots. She now looked like Ronald McDonald. A bald clown with curly hair on the sides. Even though she wasn’t entirely satisfied with this hair-do, she managed to smile into the mirror again. If you would have seen her, you would have smiled too. Eventually she had hair again. Only, it wasn’t blond any more. Her hair was now hazelnut brown and afro curly. She felt thankful still, having hair, having eyebrows, having eyelashes, and she started to think the afro curly hair looked kind of cool if you wore a hippie hairband. She had always felt like a hippie at heart anyway, so why not have hippie hair, right? Anything is better than bald. Trust her on that, people. As her hair grew longer, it got a bit less curly. And there’s a wonderful invention called a straightening iron too. Today, her hair looks almost normal. She looks almost normal. (On the inside she still has a lot of issues however…)

Lately she has started to worry again, about a few growing bald spots on her head, though. What if it’s started happening again? Is Gollum going to re-surface? Didn’t she tell him goodbye already? And in the same time, she knows that if she worries too much about this, that will add to the stress, and her hair condition will get worse. So she knows she shouldn’t worry. She knows she should relax. Chill. She knows she should allow herself more “me”-time. Eh, more "her"-time, perhaps. In her head, she knows all this. She also actually feels ashamed to even worry about this issue. It’s not like she has cancer. It’s not like she’s going to die or anything. But she just might lose all of her hair. Again. What changes does she need to make this time in order for her to feel better? Can she even prevent this from happening again? She tries so hard to live a good life. But there just seems to be something she is missing, something she is lacking. Is it exercise? Is it healthy food? Is it time alone? Is it God? Is it vitamins? Is it sun? Is it peace within? Or is it love?

tisdag 16 mars 2010

Before you start reading this let me just warn you that this will be a bit of a downer... Sorry. Check in on me next time, and I will be all smiles again probably. Not today, though. This is just something I needed to get out of my system. Thank you for your understanding.

I am feeling a bit down today. I was just sitting here thinking about all the couldas, wouldas and shouldas... Dwelling on memories lingering and lurking in the back of my head... Memories of lost lovers. Opportunities not taken. Moments that passed me by. Things I never said. Feelings I could never express. Notes that were lost. Emotions we used to share. Us drifting apart. All that has been forgotten. Things that never were. Things that never will be.

I was thinking about how I sometimes feel so very lonely. So totally lost. Knowing that I am supposed to chose happiness, that I am supposed to focus on the postive, that I am supposed to be grateful for all the good things and the good times and the good memories I still can't help feeling this way. I am 35, or I will be shortly. I just always thought I would be somewhere else at this point in my life. All the pressure I feel today, heavy on me, is attacking me from every direction. I never seem to be good enough. I can always try harder. I can always do more. What is wrong with me? Why can't I just... live my life? Why do I worry so much? Why this enormous need of being loved and feeling accepted? Why so selfconcious? Why so insecure? And why all this dwelling in the couldas, wouldas and shouldas? The past is in the past, right? Life is now. In my head I know this, of course. Today it's just hard. I know I'm not alone. But I do feel lonely.

måndag 15 mars 2010

Suddenly it just hits me. Usually there's no warning, all of a sudden it's just there. It grips me. It moves me. Emotions fill me up. My mind starts to focus. My brain starts to boil. My pencil comes to life, begins to glow and starts to make its way across a blank sheet of paper filling it with lines and dots connecting them into meaning. It's a high. It's a rush. It builds and grows. I can feel I am in touch with my soul. Like there's something inside of me talking, I think I can hear a voice that is trying to tell me something.

It can be triggered by Nature. A walk in the rain. A memory of a lost love. A song. A scent. The look in the eyes of a friend. A photo I keep in my wallet. An old lady on the bus. A day full of pain, betrayal and tears. Or a day full of accomplished tasks and the laughter of children. A novel. A poem. A painting. A hug. A flower. Or the joy of holding a pencil that was just sharpened.

You know when you feel the flow? When the moment grips hold of you? And you feel like there's nothing you can't achieve? Like there's no goal you can't reach? To be high on inspiration is the best trip.

And losing it is all the more painful.

So please, Muse of Inspiration, stand by me. Help me believe I can achieve big things. Help me believe I matter. Allow me to express myself. Now and forever. And ever.

tisdag 9 mars 2010

Ever since I was a child I dreamed about going to the US. My elder cousins both got to go as teenagers to live for a year in the US as exchange students. That became my dream too. I kept telling my parents that this was what I planned. Not what I would like to, or what I was wishing for, or dreaming of, I just told them what I was planning... My poor parents... I started attacking and going at them when I was eight or nine. And I just kept going. Very dedicated that way. And they kept telling me I was too young. Obviously. I had to at least have finished the 9th grade first. In Sweden after finishing the 9th grade you have 3 more years of high school before you are ready to go to college. (If you choose to go to college).

Anyway. Summer of 1991... I had just turned 16. School was out for the summer. Freedom. In August I was leaving on a jet plane. I was going to leave Sweden, my family and my friends, and go to the Land of Dreams. Where miracles not only happen but where they happen all the time, right? I was expecting to meet new friends, get to know a new culture and expand my language skills. I got to have all that, and so much more.

Everything was new. Everything was exciting. People spoke funny, not at all like my English teacher in school. They spoke really fast, too. I got to live in a house with three cats. I went to church twice a week (!). I went to church choir practise. Imagine that. On Sundays I sang in a church wearing a very strange looking robe. I went to school riding a yellow school bus (like in the movies!). I had Pop Tarts. Disgusting. I had Mountain Dew and Dr Pepper. Weird. Junk food. Oh yeah. Taco bell. Chinese take-out. Wendys. Hardees. BK. McD. It's a miracle I didn't put on any weight... I watched Mystery Science Theatre. I fell in love with REM. I joined the Drama Club. People actually asked me if the Swedish bikini team really existed. I answered that I didn't think so. People asked me it we had a lot of polar bears in Switzerland. I didn't answer that. I went out on dates. I kissed a boy. I fell, in a rather humiliating and embarrassing way, getting out of his car afterwards. I fell in love. I had a boy spit his gum in my hair to save the world from disaster. I got dumped. I made a lot of friends. I went to school dances, one homecoming and two proms. Not my thing. I went hiking. Definately my thing. I learned a lot. About the US. About other people. About myself. Land of the free, home of the weird... I mean brave. :)

It was a wonderful year, so fully packed with good memories. I met a beautiful, warm and welcoming people. I made friends for life. The memories I will keep forever. I will never forget 1991-1992. I am so very thankful my parents let me go. Now, If E asks, will I let her go live abroad for a year...? Hmmm... Well, she hasn't asked yet. Let's just leave this topic. Now.

måndag 8 mars 2010

First, I would like to apologize in advance. I can't believe I am forcing you to take another walk in the snow with me. You guys must be really sick of snow by now, aren't you? There have been a lot of posts about winter and icicles and frostbites and ice and how we all want Spring to come, and I have written a whole bunch of these myself. We all long for green grass, butterflies, tiny little flowers, sunshine and those cute freckles on our noses (if we are that kind of people who get freckles... and that kind of people who actually think they are cute...).

Looking out my window, however, I can tell I will have to wait for quite some time yet. And I am the kind of person who likes to enjoy Today. Today I see snow. Today I decide to enjoy life anyway. I will go for walks. I will take pictures. I will smile at the Sun even though I can't feel her warmth yet. It will come. Until then, I am seizing the day.

tisdag 2 mars 2010

Don't you just love the smell of books? Or the smell of the pencil you just sharpened? A blank page just for you. Spread you entire soul on a sheet of paper. Or just doodle. A new semester, a new course, a fresh start. Notebooks. A green apple on your desk. Exploring the blackboard jungle, chalk, tall piles of papers, books, exams, students, laughter, question marks, exclamation marks, people, ideas... Pride, passion and peace. I realize this is exactly what I want to be doing. I love being a teacher. Always have. Always will.

I love the look in your eyes when you get it. I love the smile on your face when you know. I love to put you in the spot light. I love to see you struggle. I know you'll get it right. I love getting to borrow your youth, your energy, and your spirit. I love sharing whatever wisdom I may have. I love the debates and the discussions. I love when you feel safe enough to question. I love giving you a challenge. I love watching you grow. I'll be the coach of your mind. You'll be the fuel to my soul. It is a giving and a taking. You make my heart grow every day.

måndag 1 mars 2010

This photo has nothing to do with this post really. I just didn't have

any good photos of nudity or being naked on my computer, and when

I googled it, I ended up with a whole bunch of not appropriate hits. :)

This weekend, for some family fun, me and my family decided to go to this indoor (well, it would be indoors now, wouldn't it?) water world kind of place in a town near where we live. It is one of those gigantic WaterWorlds with a whole bunch of swimmingpools, jazuzzis and water slides. I'm lacking some vocabulary here, but I hope you all get the picture? I think you know what kind of place I am talking about. My kids, E and L, really really really love to go to these facilities, so me and M take them on swimming trips serveral times a year. My kids are actually water creatures. Every once in a while I have to check them for gills...

Even though I kind of enjoy water slides myself, I'm actually not a big fan of these trips to tell you the truth. Here's the reason why: It is crowded, it is noisy, it smells funny and people aren't hardly wearing any clothes. The not wearing any clothes part is the part I am having the most trouble coping with. This makes me feel really uncomfortable. I feel I'm being exposed to more skin than I have asked for, and that I expose more of me than I feel safe doing. This trip was no exception. Don't get me wrong here, I think it's wonderful that people come in all shapes and sizes, and it's really great that they all seem to feel so... comfortable... walking around almost naked in public. I, however, do not. I have nothing against nudity, or being naked either, for that matter. I rather enjoy being naked. But when I am in public I would rather be wearing clothes. A bikini is just not enough to make me feel comfortable. But that was what I was wearing. And I was trying to relax and have a jolly good old time with my family too, I really was. But I kept seeing all these almost naked bodies everywhere. I saw skinny people, old people, huge people, pale people, tanned people, body builders, hairy people, hairless people, people with very long toe nails... I believe I saw quite a lot of silicone. I believe M saw quite a lot of silicone too, thinking they were actual boobs... Men... No comment. Sigh.

I saw a lot of tattoos, too. That was actually kind of interesting. I even started thinking about maybe having one done myself. I don't have any tattoos. I think they look really good on some people though, but then again, on some people they look awful. Don't worry, I won't be getting one in the near future. I also saw a lot of piercings. When it comes to pirecings, I already have one, and I think one is enough. At least for me.

Now, I know I shouldn't complain. Nobody is forcing me to go on these swimming trips. Well, actually my kids are, kind of. But still, why should I let this get to me? It is clearly a problem inside my own head. Why do I care? Why can't I be cool enough to just walk around there and not let it bother me? Why should I care about all the almost naked people hardly wearing anything? And, why do I care about what they see when they look at me? But I do care. What do they see? Do they the 35 (almost) year old mother of two who for the last 5..., ehrrm, 10..., ehrrm, 15 years on New Years Eve has promised herself and the world to spend more time in the gym and less on the sofa in order to try and convince some of her body parts to move back up north? And do they even care? I mean, why would they care, really? They are probably busy having a good time with their families. They are probably not checking me out.

Fact. I do not enjoy being half naked in public. I guess that is what this post is about. For those of you who are still reading this, let me first take the opportunity to thank you for you endurance. Hang on for just a little bit more, and you will have reached the end of this post. Finally. To wrap this whole thing up let me just tell you this: I love swimming in a lake. When I do, I feel like a fish. I feel smooth. I feel fast. I dive. I can hold my breath for a really long time. I can. I love water and being embraced by water. Closing my eyes I can hear Michael Stipe sing "Night swimming". And he's singing it to me. Beautiful. Aaaah... Nightswimming in a lake, I might have to be checked for gills too. And being naked is not longer a problem. Nudity alone is not being naked, that is just Nature. No need for a bikini.